


Green (With Leaves)

by kaiteki



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Plant Shop, Alternate Universe - Retail, Developing Friendships, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Office Worker Soonyoung, Plants, Shopkeeper Jihoon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29676357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiteki/pseuds/kaiteki
Summary: Soonyoung wants to buy a plant as a gift for a coworker. Soonyoung knows almost nothing about plants.What hedoesknow is, he's utterly fascinated by the shopkeeper in the plant store across the street.(Or, Soonyoung wants to be friends. Jihoon doesn't quite know what to make of him.)
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 42
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> me, explaining my ideas while waving my hands around madly: "it's a plant shop!! not a flower shop!!" 
> 
> (as if it matters)
> 
> welcome to my incredibly self-indulgent au <3

Soonyoung doesn’t know a thing about plants.

You water them, and they grow. That’s both the beginning and end of his knowledge. He’ll readily admit to it—everyone has their shortcomings and gaps in knowledge. He’s not ashamed.

But why he’d decided to give one as a congratulatory gift, he isn’t quite sure.

Actually, that’s not true. He knows the _exact_ source of the idea. Seungkwan, his friend from the marketing group, had suggested it as soon as Soonyoung mentioned that his cubicle neighbor was getting promoted. Flowers just get thrown away, he’d said, and food can be so hit-or-miss, but a plant is lasting and can even be a sign of good luck. And there’s a shop right across the street! Hadn’t Soonyoung noticed it before?

He had, of course, because it’s literally _right there_ , but it never really registered until now. He has no interest in plants or shops full of them. But Seungkwan said he’d brought his dying orchid there once, and the employee had worked _miracles_ —whatever that means for an orchid—so Soonyoung figures he may as well check it out during his lunch break.

Other than knowing nothing about plants, Soonyoung also admits he is a _terrible_ gift-giver. So anything heartfelt or thoughtful like what Seungkwan proposed will almost certainly be better than whatever inane nonsense he would come up with on his own.

He can skip his break for that, he supposes.

He crosses the street, hesitating in front of the shop for just a moment before pushing open the door. The bell above his head jingles, ridiculously loud in the relative silence of the interior. It’s more humid in here than out on the street—perfectly sensible for a place trying to cultivate life in October. There’s no music, just a few ambient sounds. The drip of water. A hissing noise that might be a leaky hose. The hum of the heating system.

There don’t seem to be any other customers, and no sign of an employee, either. Soonyoung wonders if they’d gone on break and forgotten to flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Maybe he’ll try again later, or—

“Can I help you find anything?” 

Soonyoung _jumps_ , whirling around to see—no one?

“Up here.”

Up _where_ , he wants to ask, but then he spots the bottom of a stepladder poking out from around a corner. Sure enough, the owner of the voice is standing at the top, staring down at him with a rather stony expression for someone offering their assistance.

Not that Soonyoung has ever been deterred by such a thing. “I’m looking for a plant to give as a gift,” he explains, relieved to at least have found _someone_. “I was hoping you could help me pick something.”

“Sure, one sec,” the man says, turning back to his task long enough to empty the rest of his watering can into the hanging basket in front of him. He descends the ladder, bright yellow sneakers squeaking against the rungs on his way down. He’s shorter than Soonyoung expected, and his hair is _bubblegum pink_. Instead of coming to greet Soonyoung properly, he heads toward the back, placing the watering can in a large sink. “Who’s the gift for?” he asks, twisting the tap open.

Soonyoung isn’t sure whether to laugh or be annoyed at having to speak over the sound of rushing water. “My coworker—she just got promoted. I want to congratulate her.”

“You’re interested in a potted plant rather than cut flowers?”

Soonyoung nods, “Yeah, someone told me they make better gifts because they last longer. And I think she’d appreciate it more.”

The water stops. As the shopkeeper turns around, hauling the watering can toward the front of the store, Soonyoung catches a glimpse of the nametag pinned to his striped apron: ‘JIHOON’.

A name to a face.

“Where do you think she’ll keep it?” Jihoon asks, experimentally prodding the soil in a tray of small, flowering succulents.

“What?”

Evidently satisfied with their dryness, he pours a steady stream of water over the tray. “Where do you think she’ll keep it?” he asks again, “The plant. That’ll determine what you should get.”

“Oh.” Soonyoung feels kind of dumb. He’d been thinking in weird, abstract concepts like _the language of flowers_ for choosing a gift, but it makes way more sense to start from the practical and work backwards. “Uh, on her desk, probably. She has another plant already.”

Jihoon nods, righting the watering can and making his way over to a small collection of potted plants labeled ‘Aglaonema’—whatever the heck that means. Soonyoung doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he’s literally following this shopkeeper around like some kind of lost puppy. Is this just what buying a plant is like? He honestly wouldn’t know.

“What kind of plant does she have already?” is Jihoon’s next question. Soonyoung should have expected it, but he _hadn’t_ , and he wonders if he should just leave and spare himself the agony of admitting:

“I don’t know.”

Jihoon seems nonplussed, but not particularly judgmental. Maybe Soonyoung had pinned him wrong. After all, he’s half a head shorter than Soonyoung himself, sorta cute, strong enough to lug that watering can around while remaining on the petite side, with soft cheeks and _pink, pink hair_ , of all things. And he works in a _flower_ shop—or, rather, a _plant_ shop—so really, what’s the worst he could say?

With this reassessment in mind, Soonyoung supplies, as helpfully as he can, “It’s green.”

Ah.

As it turns out, it wasn’t really about what he could _say_ , but about the look on his face. The ‘customer service is keeping me polite right now, but are you actually an idiot?’ look. “Green…” Jihoon repeats, as if reassuring himself that _was_ what he’d heard.

“Green,” Soonyoung agrees, because he may as well own it at this point, “with leaves.”

Maybe it’s the solemnity with which Soonyoung delivers this description, or maybe it’s just the idiocy of the entire situation, but Jihoon quickly ducks his face toward his shoulder, jolting with what _looks_ like a cough but _sounds_ like a laugh.

Soonyoung wants to complain, something like, _‘Hey, what the hell, I’m a customer!’_ but he finds he’s too concentrated on biting back his own grin.

Jihoon straightens up as though nothing had happened. “Green with leaves,” he repeats once more. “Okay. Does her desk get good sunlight?”

Soonyoung isn’t positive what ‘good’ sunlight is, but if he had to hazard a guess… “She’s getting her own office as part of the promotion. It has a pretty big window that faces…west, I think. It has a windowsill.”

Jihoon is nodding encouragingly now. Soonyoung feels strangely like he’s being praised. “Good, okay. So something small and low-maintenance that likes moderate to high sunlight.”

Following a few minutes’ deliberation, Soonyoung winds up with a ‘Sansevieria cylindrica’, which Jihoon tells him is also called an ‘African spear plant’. It’s not flashy, but that’s half the charm. It’s hardy, loves the kind of sunlight Soonyoung described, and requires almost no pruning or repotting, unless the owner wants it to grow bigger.

“Do you want me to repot it for you now?” Jihoon offers. “Since it comes in just that plastic one. You can look through those over there—” he gestures toward the far wall, “—and pick something about the same size, or a little bigger.”

After some consideration, Soonyoung selects a blue ceramic pot speckled with white. Jihoon takes it from him, removes the price tag, and retreats toward a table containing a large bag of potting soil. Watching him work is oddly soothing. Soonyoung finds the way he handles the plant, temporarily vulnerable outside of its plastic home, incredibly gentle.

While lowering the repotted plant into a paper bag, Jihoon adds, “If you’re the poetic type, run with this. If not, forget it. But if she cares for this plant well, it’ll sprout a long stalk in the middle with a bunch of tiny white flowers. Sort of like a reward, like how her hard work turned into a promotion.”

Soonyoung blinks. That’s a _brilliant_ thing to write in the card.

But Jihoon seems to take his silence the other way. Looking mildly embarrassed, he rings up Soonyoung’s purchase. “It’s 37,000 won for the plant, and 9,000 for the pot. Your total comes to 46,000 altogether.”

Soonyoung feels suddenly sad that their little interaction is about to come to an end. He swipes his card, taking a moment to study Jihoon’s face while he isn’t looking. What brings a guy like this to work in a plant shop? He’s clearly good at what he does, and there’s certainly nothing _wrong_ with working in a plant shop, but he doesn’t seem like a _people person_ , to put it lightly. Not somebody who would typically work retail as a first choice.

Or is it that he’s normally very friendly, but something about Soonyoung in particular put him off?

His badly-stifled laugh when Soonyoung described his coworker’s plant as “green,” though. That was cute.

And, as Soonyoung has already observed, Jihoon _himself_ is pretty cute, too.

An unfriendly shopkeeper dressed in pastels, working a delicate job with gentle hands.

Soonyoung would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.

Jihoon hands him the bag. The receipt, he says, is inside. Soonyoung heads toward the door, wondering if this will be it. Then, on a whim, he turns around at the last second and says, “Thank you for your help, Jihoon-ssi!”

He can’t read Jihoon’s expression, exactly. But then, “Thank you for your patronage…”

There’s a question mark there. There must be. Soonyoung is willing to bet on it. “Soonyoung!” he announces—too loud in the quiet of the shop, much like the bell over the door.

He can’t tell. He shouldn’t have stood so far away. He wishes he could know for sure. But he _thinks_ he sees a small smile tugging at the corners of Jihoon’s lips as he corrects himself, “Thank you for your patronage, Soonyoung-ssi.”


	2. Chapter 2

Soonyoung wishes he had a better pretense to visit again.

He keeps thinking about Jihoon, fascinated in an ‘I want to know more about you, let’s be friends’ kind of way. He considers himself introverted by nature—much to the amusement of his other friends—but his curiosity sometimes overrides that inclination.

This, he figures, is one of those times.

So, with no better excuse, feeling completely out of his depth, weighed down by a responsibility he never thought he’d willingly take on…he decides to get a plant.

Jihoon will help him.

Jihoon will probably laugh at him, too, but he’s made his peace with that already.

Entering the shop, Soonyoung isn’t sure why he’s surprised to see another customer. Maybe it’s the time of day—just after noon, during his lunch break again—or maybe it’s because it was so quiet here the first time. He’d bought the gifted plant on a Monday, and today is Thursday. Nearly a whole business week.

Hopefully he doesn’t come across as desperate.

Despite the loud clatter of the bell, Jihoon doesn’t seem to notice him. He’s too busy trying to explain to a rather belligerent older woman why she can’t plant cacti in her window boxes. In almost-November.

He’s nodding along politely while she insists that the temperature outside doesn’t matter as long as they get sun. He’s doing a good job pretending he’s listening, but Soonyoung can tell that he’s not. This is exactly what he’d been wondering about when he’d considered Jihoon’s position working retail. The job itself might be fine, but the customers are a different story.

Looking dead inside and sounding only mildly robotic, Jihoon finally gets a word in, “Generally, the best time to plant anything in a window box is in the Spring. Even with the sun, the frost can really—”

“That’s what I’m _telling_ you,” the woman cuts him off, “the sun will _prevent_ the frost from—”

Soonyoung feels really, truly sorry for him.

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, Jihoon is finally able to talk her into one informational pamphlet on cacti, and another on window box maintenance. She takes both, but says she “won’t be coming back here _anyway_ , thank you very much.”

The bell sounds louder on her way out.

Jihoon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks on the exhale. Soonyoung couldn’t say whether he’s relieved she’s gone or if he’s just trying not to scream.

When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he says is, “Welcome back, Soonyoung-ssi.”

The inner thrill that Jihoon had remembered his name is somewhat dampened by the fact that he looks _tired._ Soonyoung’s own reasons for being here feel a bit petty and selfish now.

“Hi, Jihoon-ssi,” he greets with an awkward little wave. “Uh, I can come back later, if this is a bad time.”

Jihoon frowns. “Why? You came for a reason, right? Sorry you had to wait. She was just—” he waves a hand dismissively. “You know? Some people are like that.”

His posture actually relaxes as he says this. Maybe this visit wasn’t a total bust, after all.

“Okay!” Soonyoung perks up, and this time he’s close enough to _know_ he’s not imagining the tiny smile gracing Jihoon’s lips. “So, this might sound completely out of nowhere, but I was thinking. After buying the plant for my coworker—she really loved it, by the way, so thank you—but I was thinking that maybe I should put something like that on my own desk.”

Jihoon blinks.

It sounds like an incredibly lame excuse, now that he’s said it out loud.

“I mostly just have, like, toys and action figures and stuff. But it’s pretty bare otherwise. I have room. I thought it might be…nice?”

Neither critical nor approving, Jihoon shrugs. “Okay. What are you looking for in a plant? Lighting-wise?”

Starting with lighting again. Right.

“I work in a cubicle. It’s close to the window, but the partition kind of blocks it, so I guess the desk itself doesn’t get that much sun.” Can a plant even survive on such little sun? Was this a foolhardy mission to begin with? Could this possibly be even worse than ‘green with leaves’?

But Jihoon nods. “Okay. So, something that’s fine with low light and little maintenance, and is also hard to kill,” he decides. Then, appraising Soonyoung once more, “ _Very_ hard to kill.”

Soonyoung would be offended if he wasn’t 100% correct in his assessment.

“How much space do you have, exactly?”

He ponders for a moment. “If I shuffle stuff around, I’ll have a whole corner. Like this big.” He laces his fingers together and holds his arms out in a wide circle.

Jihoon looks pleased. Soonyoung likes having been the cause. “I have the _perfect_ plant for you,” he announces, heading for the back of the shop. Soonyoung follows along, watching as Jihoon sorts through a small selection of plants with long, dark leaves.

‘Aspidistra elatior’ is the species, apparently. As if that means anything to him.

Picking out a suitable one—the _nicest_ one, Soonyoung would like to think—Jihoon holds it up for him to see. “They call this a ‘cast iron plant’ because it’s basically indestructible.”

 _‘Perfect’_ indeed.

Soonyoung happily chooses another ceramic pot—orange, this time—and watches Jihoon gently rehome his new companion. After ringing up the purchase, he sticks a small packet in the bag, along with a pamphlet similar to the ones he’d given the angry woman a few minutes ago.

“What’s that?” Soonyoung asks.

“The packet is plant food. Mix it with water. The instructions are on the outside. Like I said, this thing is super hardy, but the extra nutrients will still be good for it. And the pamphlet is in case you somehow manage to do something horrible to it anyway. More instructions.”

Jihoon clearly doesn’t trust him. He must be a good judge of character—at least with plants.

“You can bring it back if things really go south, and I’ll try to fix it for you. Good luck.” It might be sarcasm, but it sounds sincere somehow. “And thanks for your patronage again, Soonyoung-ssi.”

“Just Soonyoung.”

Jihoon stares. “Just Soonyoung?”

Probably a weird request from a customer, but he nods. “We’re the same age, right? What year were you born?”

“I’m 25. 1996.”

“Me too!” It’s destiny. Friendship destiny. “Well, I’m 26 now, but still. Just Soonyoung.”

Jihoon tilts his head from side to side, processing this new piece of information. “Okay. Just Jihoon, then.”

Soonyoung would ditch the crosswalk and _skip_ back to the office if he wouldn’t get hit by a car.

* * *

He returns sooner than he’d planned.

“What did you _do?_ ” Jihoon asks, expression and tone absolutely flabbergasted. His astonishment would be pretty cute were it not for the fact that Soonyoung had _murdered_ his new plant. The plant he’d just bought here. Last week.

Even if he’d been digging for another reason to come back, he wouldn’t have chosen this one.

He killed. The indestructible plant.

To be fair, it might not be _totally_ dead. It’s still greenish and all. But it looks kind of like wilted lettuce. Soonyoung’s mind isn’t a steel trap or anything, but he’s reasonably sure the leaves were _standing up_ when he’d first brought it back to the office.

He realizes Jihoon is still waiting for an explanation.

“Well, it’s—I don’t know!” he says helplessly. “It seemed okay for the first two days, but then my new cubical neighbor brought this heater, and it blows right under my desk, and the plant started looking kinda sad, so I did the plant food like you said, and I thought maybe the heat was making it too dry? So I watered it a ton, and then—”

“Soonyoung.”

The lack of an honorific would be nice in another time and place.

“Did you read the pamphlet?”

“More than once! I swear!”

“What about the part regarding _overwatering?_ ”

He falters. He _had_ read that part—really, he had—but he’d thought, with the extra heat from that stupid heater, and the dry air in the office…

Perhaps reading his mind, Jihoon holds out his hands for the plant. “Give me that. Let me see.”

Like a guilty child, Soonyoung passes it over.

Jihoon seems staggered by the weight of the thing. He looks into the pot. Pokes around in the soil. Sighs.

“My friend brought his orchid here once. He said it was dying, and someone saved its life. That was you, right?” Soonyoung asks, “So you can save my indestructible plant from destruction, too, right?”

“Yeah, it’s not the end of the world,” Jihoon decides. “Keep it in low light for a while—lower than normal, even. Put it under your desk or something. The heat from your neighbor will actually help. And I’ll give you a little thing of fungicide so the soil doesn’t get all funky. And _do not water it_ ,” he warns, “Not until the soil is _completely_ dry _._ ”

He reaches under the counter for a trial container of fungicide. “You might need to get more of this if you see actual mold on the soil or leaves, but consider this a preventative.” A pause, then, “By the way, is your friend the type who would cry over his orchid, by chance?”

That _does_ sound like Seungkwan. “Probably, yeah.”

“Thought so,” Jihoon confirms. “He was really over-the-top, but kind of funny? I like people who love their plants like that. Even if it’s weird. His orchid just needed root stabilization, by the way. It wasn’t _dying_ , unlike your plant.”

“Right, right, I got it,” Soonyoung tries not to sulk. “Apply the fungicide, put it under my desk, do _not_ water until it’s completely dry. And it’ll get better, right?”

“It should, but bring it back if it doesn’t. It might need repotting. We _have_ to save it, because I’m under a moral obligation to never sell you another plant if it dies,” Jihoon shakes his head gravely, handing the pot back.

“Wait, _what?_ ” Soonyoung starts, “Really?”

Perhaps caught off guard by his sincere reaction, Jihoon breaks into a grin—a big, genuine grin. “No,” he replies, passing over the fungicide as well, “but do your best, okay?”

* * *

“It _lived!_ ” Soonyoung announces the moment he enters the shop.

A week and a half of agony, of watching his plant—his _baby_ —slowly gain its strength back. And it _lived_.

He gets attached to things super quickly. It’s one of his charms, he’d say.

Jihoon looks up from the table, where he’s in the middle of pruning some kind of small, tree-looking thing. “Dracaena marginata, dragon tree,” he provides when he sees Soonyoung staring. “They get huge if you don’t cut them back. Cool if you have a big foyer or something. Less cool if you’re trying to get it out the door of this place. So your indestructible plant turned out to be indestructible after all?”

“I credit you completely,” Soonyoung says. Best to be humble. “I thought it was a goner.”

Jihoon snorts. “Any more of what you were doing, and it would have been. But I just told you what to do. You did the work. Congratulations.”

It’s another one of those times when Jihoon’s words _sound_ sarcastic, but don’t really _feel_ sarcastic. He’s nearly impossible to read.

Soonyoung is determined to figure him out, one way or another.


	3. Chapter 3

Soonyoung starts visiting the plant shop more and more frequently. Not every day, but maybe two or three times a week.

He doesn’t want to turn into one of _those_ customers. He’d worked part-time at a clothing outlet during university, so he knows what that’s like. Customers who are weird, who come on too strong, who stick around and _stare_ when you’re just trying to make a paycheck. He’d never had anything escalate beyond that, but he can only imagine. He knows some of his female coworkers went through a lot worse.

He’s not trying to _pick up_ Jihoon. That’s the first thing he decides. For one, he doesn’t even know his romantic preferences, and even _he_ has enough tact not to just blurt out a question like that. And, while Jihoon _is_ cute and oddly charming, Soonyoung has no expectations for anything beyond friendship.

He also promises to give up if Jihoon seems uncomfortable or unhappy to have him around. Mutually dropping the honorifics seems like a good sign, but if it comes to the point where Jihoon is clearly uninterested in friendship, Soonyoung will leave him alone. There’s nothing to be gained by forcing _any_ kind of relationship.

Soonyoung has a personality that often bounces off the walls, but he’s also emotionally sensitive. If he’s going to build a friendship, he wants to do it right.

* * *

At first, Jihoon seems confused by his increased visits.

He doesn’t stay long—ten minutes at most, the first few times. He purchases four little succulents during this period. Jihoon asks him if having the first plant gave him baby fever or something. He gets the impression that Jihoon does _not_ say that kind of thing to his other customers.

By the middle of December, Jihoon has more or less accepted him as part of the shop. Two or three times a week, between noon and one, there’s Soonyoung.

When there are other customers around, he just watches. Sometimes he offers to water plants or help organize stuff—something to make himself useful, instead of standing there like a weirdo. Jihoon tells him he could just _leave_ , if he wanted, but there isn’t any bite to his tone. He never accepts Soonyoung’s assistance, though. That fact remains a constant.

When the shop is otherwise empty, Soonyoung just talks to Jihoon. And the more they talk, the bigger his appreciation for their afternoon meetings grows.

He tells Jihoon stuff about himself. That he works as a software engineer. That he has his black belt in Taekwondo and still regularly attends classes. That his favorite restaurant just closed last month and he’s still getting over the loss. That he wants to adopt a cat but isn’t sure he’d have time to care for it properly.

Jihoon laughs at that one, then tells him to keep to the plants for now.

Jihoon himself isn’t so freely giving with personal information. He’s not evasive or anything, but it’s clear that he’s a more private person than his conversation partner.

Still, Soonyoung learns little things over time. That Jihoon’s family name is Lee. That his favorite food is rice—just rice. That he’d dyed his hair pink ‘on a whim’, but it was purple before that, and green before that, and silver before that, and orange before that, and— “Just for a change,” he explains, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

Soonyoung couldn’t get away with it in his own workplace, but he admires that approach to style.

Christmas is on a Saturday this year, so Soonyoung saunters in on Friday afternoon to give Jihoon his well-wishes. The shop is _swamped_ , though—more than he’s ever seen it—and Jihoon, as usual, is the only employee here. They don’t sell wreathes, but other decorative and festive plants are apparently in high demand.

Jihoon looks stressed. Soonyoung knows he prefers the plants part over the people part in every aspect of his job. His expression goes from momentarily relieved to somehow even _more_ stressed when he notices Soonyoung at the back of his checkout line.

When he finally reaches the front, it’s nearly the end of his lunch hour. Jihoon starts, “Sorry, Soonyoung, but I can’t—”

“I know,” Soonyoung pulls a candy cane from his coat pocket, “I’m sorry your day is like this.” He reaches over the counter to hook it around the upper tie of Jihoon’s apron. Satisfied with his work, he pulls back. “Good luck. Merry Christmas.”

He doesn’t stick around to see the look on Jihoon’s face.

* * *

In mid-January, Jihoon comes down with a cold.

Soonyoung still doesn’t plan his visits on a schedule, but he’d had lunch meetings on both Tuesday _and_ Wednesday this week, so he’s glad to escape the office on Thursday afternoon. Jihoon told him on Monday that they would be getting a shipment of this weird tropical _whatever_ soon. Soonyoung can’t remember the name, and Jihoon knows him well enough by now not to expect him to. What he _does_ remember is that they’re supposed to be extremely beautiful. He’s looking forward to seeing them.

Kwon Soonyoung. Excited over some unknown plants. Who would have thought? Times really do change.

He’s used to having to look for Jihoon when he first comes in—tucked away in some corner, hidden by foliage, at the top of his ladder watering the hanging baskets.

He’s thrown off by the fact that Jihoon is sitting at the checkout counter, chin rested on folded arms, with no customers in sight. He’s wearing a medical mask—one of those blue paper ones. He lifts his head at the sound of the bell, then lowers it once he realizes it’s Soonyoung.

“Good afternoon, Kwon Soonyoung-ssi.”

Full name, honorifics, and he sounds like _shit._

“Jeez, you really—”

“ _I know_ ,” Jihoon cuts him off, “Luckily my job doesn’t tend to involve long conversations.” His voice is shot to hell, the rasp of a sore throat overlaid with the blunted consonants of congestion.

Soonyoung has no good rebuttal for that. “Should I leave?” he offers. He doesn’t _want_ to, per se, but if Jihoon would rather be napping, and he’s _preventing_ that…

Jihoon sighs. The sigh turns into flurry of wet, hacking coughs. Once he’s done wiping his teary eyes with the edge of his sleeve, he says, “It doesn’t matter, but I’m sure you could find better company. Any day, but especially today.”

Soonyoung feels like there’s a question in there somewhere—that nagging ‘Why do you keep coming back here?’ question. And yet, despite his strong feelings about his visits to this tiny shop, he doesn’t feel equipped to answer it in a way he thinks Jihoon would find satisfactory.

Instead, he asks, “Do you want honey in your tea?”

Jihoon looks at him like he’s gone insane. “What?”

“There’s a café, like—” he gestures toward the street, “—a block that way. So, do you want honey in your tea?”

If possible, Jihoon looks even more confused. “ _What?_ ” he repeats, “Are you—you don’t have to—”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Soonyoung decides, and he’s out the door before Jihoon can tell him otherwise.

The café is more of a mornings and evenings kind of place, so the service is quick. A latte for himself, tea for Jihoon. He idly wonders what Jihoon’s usual order would be, if he didn’t sound like he does today. _Black coffee_ , probably. It falls in line with just about everything else Soonyoung knows about him.

Jihoon is still there when he returns. There’s no reason why he _wouldn’t_ be, of course. He’s the only one working, so it’s not like he could run away. He’s currently sweeping some soil out from beneath the shelves. It looks like busywork to Soonyoung—just trying to keep himself occupied—but he’s not dumb enough to comment on it.

“What if I told you I didn’t like honey?” Jihoon asks, not looking up as the bell jingles.

“I would tell you that your poor, wrecked throat needs _something_ , and honey is what you’re getting.” Soonyoung responds, not missing a beat. Then, as Jihoon crouches to sweep the dirt into a dusting pan, “Do you actually not like it?”

“I’m ambivalent,” Jihoon replies, dumping the pan into a large garbage can and brushing his hands off on his apron. Despite that, he’s smiling beneath the face mask as he accepts the cup. Noticing Soonyoung’s own cup, he suggests, “You wanna, uh—sit? There’s nowhere to sit, really, except behind the register, but there are two chairs. If you pretend you work here, I won’t tell.”

Soonyoung doesn’t think he could pass for an employee, given the fact that he’s wearing a button-down and dress shoes as opposed to Jihoon’s apron and sneakers, but he’s not about to voice any objections.

Jihoon makes him drag his chair all the way over to the other end of the counter. Soonyoung must seem put-out, because he dryly explains, “I appreciate the tea and the company, but if I get you sick, I’ll feel guilty. And _you’ll_ be sick. Lose-lose.”

His logic is sound. Soonyoung sips at his coffee—the perfect temperature, thanks to the short walk back—and watches Jihoon tug the mask beneath his chin.

A mask can make a person look sick, or not, depending on the circumstances. Some fabulous celebrity who didn’t feel like putting makeup on that morning? Probably fine. Lee Jihoon with a bad cold, working in the plant shop across the street? Slightly different.

He looks sicker with the mask off, though. It’s nothing earth-shattering, but covering the lower half of his face had concealed how raw and chapped his nose is, and how cracked and sore his lips are. He needs chapstick. Chapstick and the gentle kind of tissues with lotion. And a day off, probably.

And tea with honey.

Soonyoung realizes far too late that he’d been staring, because Jihoon ducks his head to the side, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m—is my nose running? I can’t tell. My whole face kinda hurts so I’ve been tuning it out. I have a thing of paper towels under here—” he rummages beneath the counter, face buried in the crook of his elbow.

Flustering Jihoon might be fun in another situation, but not like this.

“No, sorry, don’t mind me,” Soonyoung apologizes, “I was zoning out, not staring. You’re fine, I think.”

“You _think?_ ” Jihoon looks up at him, eyes narrowed.

Soonyoung nods vigorously. “Yeah, put your arm down. I’m pretty sure you’re okay.”

 _Why_ this feels like some monumental trust-building activity, Soonyoung doesn’t know, but Jihoon slowly straightens up in his chair. Then, even _more_ slowly, he lowers his arm.

Soonyoung regrets this immediately.

“Okay, so, your nose is running a _little…_ ”

“I hate you,” Jihoon declares, diving back under the counter for the paper towels.

At least he doesn’t look so embarrassed anymore.

Soonyoung adds a few more boxes of tissues to his imaginary shopping list for Jihoon, because he sounds _ridiculously_ congested and those paper towels can’t possibly be doing his skin any favors. He adds more honey and chamomile tea to the list, too, because whether he means to or not, Jihoon is being completely obvious about how pleased he is with Soonyoung’s choice.

After a few minutes of silence, while Jihoon is enjoying the bliss of his throat-soothing tea, Soonyoung figures he can ask something he’s been wondering about for a while now. “Are you here all the time?”

Jihoon tilts his head, perplexed.

“I mean, you’re here every time I come in. I don’t come on a schedule or anything. You were here by yourself the day before Christmas, too. And you don’t make it sound like you _own_ the place, so what’s the deal?”

“Oh,” Jihoon is nodding, which must mean his question isn’t completely ridiculous. “I’m the only full-time employee. We have part-timers on the weekends, two college students. One works Saturdays and the other works Sundays. The owner is here sometimes, too, but he mostly does the business side of things, so he doesn’t have to physically—” Soonyoung gets the gist, thankfully, because Jihoon breaks off into several more of those painful-sounding coughs.

It’s a decent segue into his next question. “So…do you get sick days?”

Jihoon lifts his head. He looks tired, and his nose is running again. He sniffles, reaching for another paper towel. “I’m not held captive here, if that’s what you mean,” he says, blowing his nose roughly. “They’re good to me, I get paid well, and I like my job. It’s…” he looks around the shop, as if searching for the right word, “…fulfilling, I guess?”

Seeing Jihoon here every day, in his apron and nametag, watering and fertilizing and pruning and repotting plants, _somewhat_ at the expense of friendly customer service—Soonyoung thinks he might understand.

“And yes, I get sick days.”

This roundabout way of answering the question makes Soonyoung smile.

Then he realizes it’s a whopping ten minutes past when he was supposed to clock back in.

“Oh shi—sorry, Jihoonie, I gotta—I didn’t realize how late it was—here, take this!” he pulls a wrapped spoon from his coat pocket, “Stir your tea when it gets close to the bottom! The honey is the most important part! And, uh—” he produces a pen as well, yanking the cardboard sleeve off of his own coffee cup and scribbling down his phone number. “Text me, or call, or whatever, if you need anything, okay? Feel better soon!” and he’s sprinting out the door before he even has time to process his own words.

What he _does_ process, just before the door swings shut, is the indignant, croaky shout: _“Who are you calling Jihoonie?!”_


	4. Chapter 4

Soonyoung has never considered himself a doubtful person, but the next day leaves him wondering if he’d crossed some sort of line. He doesn’t expect Jihoon to contact him. They’re friends by now, for sure, but probably not close enough to text regularly or drop everything to look after one another when they’re sick.

It’s a moot point anyway, because Jihoon is probably at work as usual. And there’s no need to contact Soonyoung when Soonyoung is right across the street.

Although Soonyoung hadn’t visited today.

He’s packing up his things, contemplating swinging by the café to bring Jihoon another cup of tea before he heads home. It’s just past seven now, and the shop doesn’t close until nine. He doesn’t usually stop by _after_ work, but he’d received an earful from his boss yesterday about his extra-long lunch break, so he’d abandoned any thoughts of venturing further than the water cooler today.

He still hasn’t made up his mind when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

Probably Chan looking to grab drinks. Soonyoung is tired, but he’ll say yes, if that’s who it is. He loves that little intern to pieces. They _definitely_ need to hire him full-time after he graduates.

But it’s not Chan. It’s a number Soonyoung doesn’t recognize.

It could be nothing, but he doesn’t get many random texts, so there’s a _possibility_ …

The message reads, _‘Sorry it’s late, but can I ask you for a favor?’_

It _has_ to be Jihoon. But, if for some reason it _isn’t_ Jihoon, and it’s just some weird scam artist, Soonyoung feels comfortable texting back, _‘Is it a “help me hide the body” favor, or a “bring me soup and tissues” favor?’_

_‘Either or both, depending on how the evening goes.’_

That’s _definitely_ Jihoon.

 _‘Keeping me in suspense~’_ Soonyoung supplies, adding, _‘What do you need?’_

Jihoon sends him a short list—one that mercifully contains both tissues _and_ chapstick. Canned soup, decongestant medicine, and cough drops make the cut as well. _‘I’ll pay you back,’_ he types quickly, _‘and I’ll owe you one.’_

As much as Soonyoung likes the idea of being ‘owed one,’ he has no interest in profiting off of someone else’s misery. Jihoon must be feeling pretty bad if he’d stayed home from work _and_ abandoned his pride to contact Soonyoung. Rather than starting an argument over text, Soonyoung simply responds, _‘You got it.’_ And then, after a small realization, _‘Where do you live, anyway?’_

Jihoon provides an address. _‘Third floor. 3A. You can just come in. I’ll leave the door unlocked.’_

The _trust_ of it all makes Soonyoung’s heart flutter, but he wishes it was under better circumstances. He plugs the address into his phone’s GPS, unsurprised to find it’s within easy walking distance of the plant shop—and therefore, his own office building. The nearest convenience store is five minutes in the opposite direction, so he should be able to reach Jihoon’s in under half an hour.

He can immediately see why Jihoon wouldn’t want to go out in this weather if he’s still not feeling well. It’s _cold_. Soonyoung has to tug his scarf nearly up to his eyeballs to keep his face from going numb.

The heater above the automatic door of the 7-Eleven is running full blast. Soonyoung silently thanks it for its hard work before grabbing a shopping basket. Entering the pharmacy aisle first, he picks up the medicine, then three boxes of tissues— _with lotion_ , he deliberately thinks, picturing Jihoon’s pink, abused nose from yesterday. He debates over cough drops for a minute, then decides Jihoon’s supposed ‘ambivalence’ toward honey is just fine. Chapstick is easy enough, too.

In the food aisle, he takes a small jar of regular honey along with a box of chamomile tea. He has no intention of letting Jihoon pay him back, so the extra stuff doesn’t matter. It’ll be worth it if it makes him feel better.

Soup is harder, because he realizes he hadn’t asked Jihoon how much he wants, or even what kind he _likes_. Chicken is probably a safe bet. He adds four cans to the basket.

That’s it. That’s good. He feels weirdly jittery as the cashier rings him up. It shouldn’t be a big deal, running an errand for a sick friend, but the recognition of a new _level_ of friendship is somehow exciting.

He’d run to Jihoon’s apartment if he wasn’t laden down with supplies.

As it is, it doesn’t take him long to get there. The GPS leads the way, but it’s mostly a straight shot. He double-checks the address when he arrives, but this is right.

It looks pretty normal from the outside—a narrowish, three-story brick building. Soonyoung assumes Jihoon has the top floor to himself, given its size and shape.

Since standing on the sidewalk isn’t going to get him anywhere, Soonyoung enters the front door. It feels weird to go into someone else’s home without being let in, even though he has an invitation. It must be because it’s a shared entrance. But nobody tries to stop him, so he climbs the stairs.

They creek loudly the whole way up. When he makes it to the top floor—sure enough, just one door, 3A—he stops. Waits. Knocks, even though Jihoon said he should just come in.

No response. He turns the doorknob.

It’s pretty cheerful inside, which Soonyoung hadn’t expected. There are plants on nearly every surface, of course, which he _had_ expected. He toes his shoes off by the door. The overhead light is off in favor of a table lamp and two floor lamps, giving the room a warm glow. It’s more than enough to see by, and Soonyoung quickly understands why Jihoon hadn’t answered the door.

It’s not because he couldn’t be bothered to get up or hadn’t heard Soonyoung knock, but because he’s _asleep._ Completely out cold on the living room sofa. Some kind of movie is playing on the TV, but the volume is so low that there’s no way he’d actually been watching it. He probably hadn’t meant to fall asleep—curled awkwardly as he is on his side, head pillowed on his arms, blanket tangled around his legs as though he’d just gotten too tired to stay sitting up.

He’s snoring, too. That would be what the decongestants are for.

Seeing Jihoon in his own space—asleep on the couch, floor and coffee table littered with crumpled tissues and half-empty water bottles—feels kind of surreal.

He’s not wearing his apron or yellow sneakers. There’s no reason for that to give Soonyoung pause, but he’d honestly never thought of Jihoon in anything else. Right now, he’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt—gray, with some kind of logo Soonyoung doesn’t recognize—and blue, plaid pajama pants. His feet are bare, sticking out from beneath the blanket. Aren’t they cold? Soonyoung has half a mind to find and raid his sock drawer.

But that would be complete lunacy, so he raps his knuckles softly against the wood of the coffee table. “Jihoon…” he steps back far enough to avoid looming over him, “Jihoon, it’s Soonyoung. I brought your stuff…”

Soonyoung can’t tell if it’s his voice or the final knock against the table that does it, but Jihoon’s eyes fly open, and what _would_ be a gasp of surprise comes out as a thick, choked sound, and he starts _coughing_.

“Oh, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Soonyoung apologizes, even though it’s not really his fault.

“It’s okay,” Jihoon waves him off between coughs, “it’s fine.” He pushes himself up, looking a little lightheaded. “Have you—” he swallows hard, wincing, “—been here long? I didn’t hear you. I’m all—” he makes a vague gesture toward his head, “—feels like I’m underwater.”

“Only for a minute,” Soonyoung replies. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I asked you to come,” Jihoon frowns, staring at the shopping bags Soonyoung is still holding. “I’m glad you did. I didn’t know who else to text.”

Soonyoung tries not to look upset by that—he’d never even _asked_ about Jihoon’s other friends or family, come to think of it—but his dismay must show on his face, because Jihoon corrects:

“No, not like—I have people, I mean. But they’re all halfway across the city or further, and to ask someone to take a train just to run to the store for you over a _cold_ is kind of like…” he looks a little ashamed. “Even texting _you_ was overkill, I think.”

“Absolutely not,” Soonyoung retorts. “You’re my friend. I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh,” Jihoon looks contemplative. Maybe he _hadn’t_ thought of them in the same terms? Not that he would ever give an over-the-top declaration of friendship and adoration, anyway. Did Soonyoung just make it weird? Maybe he should leave. He’d made his delivery, so there’s no real reason for him to hang around.

But instead, he asks, “Where do you keep your socks?”

“My socks?” Jihoon questions. “In the…drawer? My sock drawer? Why?”

“Aren’t your feet cold?”

Jihoon looks down, wiggling his toes against the hardwood floor as if testing it out. “Freezing,” he admits.

“Is it weird if I get you socks? Do you have weird stuff in your sock drawer? Your nose is running, by the way.”

Jihoon claps his hands over his face. “ _Lead_ with that, you goddamn—” he watches as Soonyoung produces a box of tissues from his shopping bag, pulling the top off and holding it out it as a peace offering. Jihoon snatches a tissue, turning away to blow his nose with a truly horrible noise. If anything, he sounds even _worse_ once he’s finished. “…These are nice,” he comments, staring down at the crumpled tissue like it’s some new invention he’d never encountered before. “Uh, what was the question? Socks?”

Soonyoung nods patiently.

“Yeah, you can—there’s nothing weird in my sock drawer. Or any of my drawers. I can get them, though.”

“No, stay, you look exhausted. And chilly,” Soonyoung adds, seeing Jihoon shiver. “Do you have a fever?”

Jihoon shrugs. “I don’t…think so?” That means he doesn’t know, which means he hasn’t checked, which probably means _yes_.

“Jeez, I leave you alone for _one_ day…”

“I lived 26 years of my life on this earth without you. If you think I’m—”

“26?” Soonyoung wonders why that doesn’t sound right. Then, horrified, “I missed your birthday!”

Jihoon winces at the volume. He makes a mental note to tone it down.

“When was it?” Soonyoung asks, flopping onto the couch beside him. He feels defeated. So much for _friends…_

“End of November,” Jihoon informs him. “But you only started coming in regularly after you bought the Sansevieria cylindrica for your coworker, which was at the end of October. You knew my age but had no reason to care about my birthday. And you’re gonna get my germs, sitting here.”

Soonyoung ignores the warning. “Did you work on your birthday?”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah, it was on a Monday. The 22nd. You came in to bother me about…somebody swapped out your office chair, I think? For one of those bouncy ball chairs. You thought it was hilarious. But I was up on the ladder when you burst through the door, and you scared the _shit_ out of me.”

Soonyoung notices Jihoon is smiling, just a little. “I think that was the first time you actually swore at me— _me, a_ _customer!_ ” he puts his hand dramatically over his heart, reminiscing, “Something about ‘ _Who the fuck taught you how to open doors, you absolute—‘_ ”

Jihoon is shaking with suppressed laughter, probably for fear of coughing. “I almost fell. You almost _killed_ me. On my _birthday_.”

“I can’t be held accountable for a birthday I never knew about. But I _am_ sorry,” Soonyoung replies. “How’d you know it was me, anyway? You can’t see the door from the top of your ladder. You could’ve been yelling at _anybody_.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Like anyone else on this planet would open the door to a plant shop while shouting about lumbar support.”

His straight-faced delivery has Soonyoung in stitches. He only gets himself back under control when Jihoon starts coughing again. “Ah, sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing Jihoon’s back. “You’re just funny today.”

“I’ll go back to providing excellent, deadpan customer service on Monday.” A beat. “Wait, today _is_ Friday, right?” he looks momentarily panicked, “ _Please_ tell me it’s Friday.”

“It’s Friday,” Soonyoung promises, “you can sleep all weekend. You’re cute when you’re sick, but being cute doesn’t sell plants. Probably.” He takes a minute to consider the merits of cuteness vis a vis plant sales.

And then. Slowly. Gradually.

Plays back what he’d just said.

Jihoon is staring at him like he isn’t sure how to respond. Soonyoung opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ that would make this less weird. He should explain himself, or make a joke. He didn’t come here to _flirt_ , or with any ulterior motives, it just kind of—

“You’re cute, too, when you’re having an internal crisis,” Jihoon observes, “but being cute doesn’t get me socks, like you said you were going to.”

Soonyoung’s mind goes completely blank.

His silence drags on too long. The awkwardness in the air is palpable. Jihoon seems to take that as a cue to have his _own_ crisis.

“You _were_ flirting with me, right?” he asks. “We’ve been flirting? Now? And before, too? I was under the impression that we were. But if not, then _yes_ I have a fever and I have no idea what I’m talking about because I’m slightly delirious, and it’s been nice seeing you, really, thanks for the stuff, and— _mmph!_ ”

Soonyoung cups his hand over Jihoon’s mouth. This isn’t romantic in the slightest, but it’s less infectious than the alternative. He didn’t think this was how the evening was going to go, but he needs them both on the same page _right now._

He presses his lips to the back of his own hand. The most indirect of indirect kisses.

Jihoon is pink in the face when he lets go, although whether that has to do with embarrassment or Soonyoung unintentionally blocking his oxygen supply in conjunction with his stuffy nose, who can say?

“That doesn’t count,” Jihoon insists as soon as he’s more or less put himself back together. “I mean—don’t do it now. But later. It doesn’t have to be much of anything. But that can’t be the first.”

“Deal,” Soonyoung agrees, leaning forward to softly press his lips to Jihoon’s forehead. Probably still a good way to get sick. Not that he can bring himself to care. “You’re hot,” he comments, pulling back.

Jihoon looks incredibly unimpressed. “No matter how I respond, you’re gonna pretend I took it the wrong way in order to crack a joke about my appearance or the fever you think I have.”

“The fever you _do_ have,” Soonyoung corrects, “but yeah. You’re hot in other ways, too. Where do you keep your thermometer?”

Soonyoung's instincts are wrong and Jihoon does _not_ have a fever, as it turns out. But he’s still sick and exhausted enough to be chilled, so is there really any difference? Soonyoung’s introduction to Jihoon’s sock drawer is as boring as would be expected, but he’s briefly tickled with himself when he finds fuzzy socks nearly the exact same shade as Jihoon’s hair.

He brews a cup of tea, trying and failing not to bask in the domesticity of the experience. He adds too much honey, and Jihoon complains that it’s too sweet, but he drinks it anyway. He takes a decongestant tablet, too. Hopefully some combination of those things will make him comfortable enough to sleep.

“You should go,” Jihoon eventually says, in direct contrast with the fact that he has slumped down so far that he’s nearly in Soonyoung’s lap, “you’ll get sick.”

He’s probably right. Despite the fact that they hadn’t _actually_ kissed, contagion feels inevitable by this point. “But you’re cute when you’re sick,” Soonyoung protests, “so how can I just _leave?_ ”

“The door’s over there,” Jihoon points mostly in the right direction. He seems to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open, although that might have something to do with the fact that Soonyoung has been gently massaging his shoulders for the past five minutes.

“Kick me out if you want,” Soonyoung challenges, “or lie down the right way and I’ll cover you up. Then _maybe_ I’ll leave willingly to go brew my own germs at home.”

“M’sorry,” Jihoon says through a yawn, “this isn’t how I wanted this to go,” he sounds genuinely remorseful.

“Don’t be,” Soonyoung insists, putting a pillow where his lap had been and tucking Jihoon’s thick comforter around his body. “This sorta seems right, doesn’t it?”

Whether Jihoon doesn’t argue because he doesn’t have a counterpoint or because he’s already fallen asleep, Soonyoung couldn’t say. But he looks relaxed, breathing deeply and _not_ snoring, so Soonyoung isn’t about to disturb him now.

He tidies up as quietly as he can. Used tissues in the wastebasket, followed by a good hand-washing. Extra boxes of tissues on the coffee table alongside the medicine, chapstick, and cough drops. Canned soup on the kitchen counter next to the tea and honey. And his…boyfriend? Pre-boyfriend? Disgustingly sick shopkeeper who works across the street with whom he has weird romantic tension?

Whatever Jihoon is, he’s asleep on the couch.

That’s everything he can think of, so Soonyoung slips his shoes on, pulling the door open.

“Soonyoung.”

He turns around, startled. “Jihoon?”

Jihoon has lifted his head up far enough to peer over the arm of the sofa. He looks miserable, but also incredibly sleepy and _exceptionally_ cute. His voice has gone all croaky again, but the delivery hardly matters to Soonyoung, because he says, “Thanks,” and then, with no hesitation, “I like you.”

He drops back down immediately, breathing slow and even once more. Soonyoung is pretty sure he’s _out_ this time.

But just in case, he says—barely loud enough for Jihoon to hear if he _was_ awake—“I like you, too.”

The lack of response makes him smile. He closes the door tightly behind himself.

The January air isn’t any less bitter now, but Soonyoung is warm all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments/thoughts are greatly appreciated. <3


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